Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/968077.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Marking, Possessive_Behavior
  Collections:
      Kink_Bingo_2013_(Round_Six)
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-09-15 Words: 3128
****** (sink your teeth) right through my bones ******
by eledhwenlin
Summary
     Derek likes to mark Stiles up. Good thing that Stiles likes it, too.
Notes
     Stiles is 17 in this fic. Set in the same verse as He_Wears_It_Well_
     (That_Uniform).
     Fill for my kink_bingo square possession/marking.
     Betaed again by the lovely inspiredlife. Thank you, darling. <333
Derek leans down and sucks on Stiles's nipple.
"Derek," Stiles whines. "I'm already covered in hickeys."
"Not enough," Derek mumbles against Stiles's skin before flicking his nipple
with his tongue. Stiles twitches, but doesn't move away, so Derek feels
encouraged to continue. If Stiles were really upset with him, he'd push Derek
away.
Instead Stiles sighs. "You're weird," he says, but he tangles his fingers in
Derek's hair, pressing him close. "Come on, go to town. You wanna do that
nursing thing again?"
Derek nuzzles Stiles's chest some more, but today he doesn't want to live out
that particular fantasy. "No," he says, almost inaudibly, because he's still
nosing along Stiles's sternum. "Not tonight."
There's a perfect spot just under Stiles's armpit that's just begging to be
bitten and sucked on.
"Dude," Stiles says. He wriggles a bit, but he raises his arm, giving Derek
better access. "I'm going to end up looking like I tried to fight an kraken and
lost."
Derek grins, but thankfully Stiles can't see him. He concentrates on finishing
sucking a perfectly round spot and lets it be.
***
The next afternoon, Derek's quietly reading a book when the door to the loft
creaks open and then is slammed closed so hard the windows clank.
Stiles starts speaking before he's even thrown down his backpack. "Scott
couldn't look me in the eye all day long, Erica kept smirking in that awful way
of hers and Isaac blushed. What stupid werewolf messages are you sending?"
Stiles moves to stand in front of Derek. He has his arms crossed, but he seems
more annoyed than angry--annoyed because he doesn't know what his marks mean.
"Usually you're smarter than this," Derek says and looks down at his book, even
though it's difficult to concentrate. He can smell the blood so close
underneath Stiles's skin, a siren call of want and need.
Suddenly the book is slapped out of his hands and Stiles crawls onto his lap.
"You're such an asshole," Stiles says and grabs Derek's hair, pulling his head
back. "You've claimed me, haven't you?" Stiles says, looming over Derek. He's
pressing Derek down against the cushions, grounding him, keeping Derek safe.
"You marked me all up so that every wolf who meets me knows who I belong to."
Stiles is leaning down, whispering into Derek's ear, "Is it jealousy? Are you
afraid someone else is going to come and take me?"
Derek automatically puts his hands on Stiles's hips, his fingers slipping
underneath his hoodie and shirt. He shakes his head. Above him Stiles stills.
His right hand has slipped down and he's stroking Derek's throat. It should
make Derek want to fight, but all he wants is to lie back and let Stiles do
what he wants. "Then why?" Stiles asks softly. "Why did Scott choke on thin air
when he saw me this morning?"
"I'm proud of you," Derek says softly. "I'm proud that you trust me enough to
let me do that and--" This is the hard part, where he has to be honest and
needs to trust Stiles not to take his words and use them against him. Stiles
has a temper, but Derek thinks that Stiles knows enough (and especially, he
understands) about Derek not to make them a weapon. "I'm proud that you are
with me."
Stiles is quiet and that's just. It's not right. Stiles isn't even quiet in
sleep, whether it's smacking his lips or murmuring in his sleep or simply
moving around until he's comfortable (usually ending with Stiles sprawled all
over Derek because Derek "makes the best pillow, no lie"). It goes on for long
enough that Derek is forced to look up.
Stiles is grinning. "Derek," he says, "are you telling me that marking me up is
like me wearing your letter jacket?"
Derek can't help it, he blushes, because that's an apt metaphor.
Stiles sits down on Derek's thighs, letting his knees bracket Derek. "Are we
going steady now?" he asks with an unholy amount of glee. "Oh my god, is that
the werewolf equivalent of putting a ring on it?"
Stiles throws up his hand in what Derek supposes is meant to be a dance pose,
but it looks ridiculous. And Stiles makes a strange hand movement, while his
chest is heaving with suppressed laughter, and Derek snaps. Even werewolves can
take so much.
He grabs Stiles around the middle and flips them down on the couch. Stiles
starts to laugh even as his back hits the cushions. "You want everyone to know
that I'm your boyfriend," he crows, not fazed one bit by Derek scowling at him
from above.
"Shut up," Derek growls, but he can't help himself--he has to lean down and
sniff Stiles.
Stiles laughs. "You doooo," he says, "you want to pay someone to write it in
the sky, you--"
Derek jerks up, positioning himself above Stiles. "Yes, I do," he says, "so
what?" I thought you'd want everyone to know, too is what he doesn't say.
Stiles, because he's Stiles and he has, according to his own words, spent
countless hours deciphering what Derek's eyebrows are saying, gets it anyway.
"Hey." Stiles puts his hands on the back of Derek's neck, pulling him down
gently, with hardly any pressure. Because it's Stiles, Derek goes willingly,
unable to hold back. "I didn't mean, Derek, you know that I love you, right?"
Derek nods and when Stiles brushes his thumb over Derek's cheek, he lets
himself flop down on top of Stiles, his face strategically hidden in the curve
between Stiles's neck and shoulder. It's a good place to be, especially as
there's one hickey right at the collar of Stiles's shirt. It smells good and he
presses his nose there, trying to breathe in as much of Stiles as he can, just
in case he fucks up this relationship, too.
"I like it," Stiles whispers into Derek's ear. "I like that you like me enough
to want everyone to know--are you sniffing me again?"
Derek shrugs. "You smell good," he mumbles, words half-swallowed by Stiles's
clothes.
"I smell like I spent the entire day in school."
Derek noses the mark, licking over it. He doesn't miss the light shiver that
runs through Stiles.
"You enjoy those marks, uh?"
Derek leans up on one elbow, so that he can look at Stiles's face, too. "And
you like them, too," he says. Stiles grins back at him unabashedly, like
there's nothing strange about being covered with bruises Derek sucked onto his
skin. It makes Derek want to kiss him, and so he does.
Stiles, as nervous as he was that first time, is completely shameless in bed.
He's never hesitated to ask for things he'd like to try out, and in some ways
being with Stiles has been a revelation for Derek, too. So Derek should've
expected Stiles to say, "I like feeling your teeth on my skin."
Derek groans. "Stiles, you can't just say shit like that."
Stiles keeps talking, because he has made a habit out of not listening to
Derek, and despite it Derek loves him. Or maybe because. The lines get blurry,
when Stiles's fingers twist in his hair and he can feel Stiles growing hard
against his thigh. "It's the thrill," he says, "because you could shift any
second."
I won't, Derek wants to say but Stiles is baring his neck and pushing Derek's
face against the side of his throat and Derek can't not latch on to that vein
standing out, can't not mouth his way along Stiles's jawline.
"I know you wouldn't," Stiles murmurs, breath hitching when Derek finds that
spot right underneath his ear, "not on purpose. And then, when you suck on my
skin, it feels like I'm on fire or being electrocuted or something because my
nerve endings are just, damn, going crazy, and it feels good and it hurts a
little and I want you to mark me all over, so everyone will know and, fuck."
Derek starts rutting against Stiles involuntarily. Stiles is reciting a wolf's
wet dream (Derek is speaking out of experience) and the thought alone that
Stiles wants to bear Derek's mark all over town makes Derek want to lie down
and let Stiles do whatever he wants to Derek.
"Take this off," Derek says, tugging at Stiles's hoodie. "Stiles, I need--"
"Shhh," Stiles says. He pulls Derek on top of him properly, spreading his legs
so that Derek can settle perfectly between his thighs. It's Derek's favourite
position, because he can still kiss Stiles while fucking him (while Stiles
tells him exactly how he wants to be fucked). Stiles also knows that it's a
surefire way to short-circuit Derek's brain.
"I want you to go all out," Stiles says as he tugs Derek's shirt off. "Lose the
pants, completely, I'm not above laughing at you when you fall over when you
try to get up, because you were too lazy to pull them all off." He pushes Derek
to his knees, just far enough that Stiles can take off his own hoodie and,
waits, there are three shirts, what the hell, and thumb open his jeans.
"I'm much faster than you," Derek says, as he turns around to kick off his
pants and underwear before crawling on top of Stiles again. "Why are you so
slow?"
"Weak human," Stiles says, and despite the fact that it's a joke, it makes
Derek growl.
"You're anything but weak," he says.
Stiles grins up at him. "My cavalier," he says. "I love how nothing gets you
riled up so quickly as me down-talking myself."
"You're the strongest person I know," Derek tells Stiles and, because that was
just a bit too honest, he kisses Stiles. Being so close to Stiles also allows
him to pull Stiles's jeans and underwear over Stiles's hips and down his
thighs, as far as he can go.
Fortunately Stiles gets with the program. He pushes on Derek's shoulder until
Derek flops down on his back and then Stiles basically wriggles out of his
clothes. It shouldn't be sexy, but it is. To Derek, it's unbelievably sensual
because now he can fully smell Stiles. He's aroused, cock half-hard, with a bit
of sweat mingled in, but underneath all that it's simply--Stiles.
Stiles crawls onto Derek in what he obviously thinks is a sexy move, but it
makes Derek smile. Then Derek's attention is drawn to the marks littering
Stiles's upper body.
"You're lucky that it's the season break right now and I don't have practise,"
Stiles says. "I'm sure someone would call the police, thinking I was attacked."
"They're just hickeys," Derek says. It would be more believable if his voice
didn't break. Because they're not just hickeys and both he and Stiles know and
both of them know that the other one knows and--there's meaning in them.
Derek's already full hard, just from looking at the dark bruises on Stiles's
pale skin and thinking, I did that, he let me do that, mine.
"Maybe I don't like hickeys," Stiles says. There's a hitch in his breath,
though, and his heart stumbles over itself.
"Liar," Derek whispers.
Stiles just grins at him. "I wonder," he says, in that fateful tone that means
both the best and worst things for Derek. And then he stops. And just looks at
Derek.
Until Derek snaps. His patience has never been the best. "You wonder what?"
"If it's only a one-way street." Stiles's eyes seem so dark, his entire face
showing his intent.
"N-no," Derek says, because it's not, but--
"They'll fade, won't they," Stiles says softly as he leans down to press a kiss
against Derek's chest. "No matter how much I mark you up, they'll fade and no
one will see."
You've already marked me, Derek wants to say. Deep inside where no one can see
them, he's covered in Stiles's marks.
"I'll just have to redo them tomorrow then, won't I?" Stiles mumbles against
Derek's skin, just before he bites hard on Derek's pectoral.
It's simple pleasure--the act of being claimed, of being marked. Even if no one
will be able to see the marks, Derek will know where they were, will be able to
recall how they felt, and he feels like he's baring so much more than his body
for Stiles right now, and there's not a single part of Derek that cares, as
long as Stiles keeps pressing him down against the couch, mouth busily sucking
on Derek's skin, fingers tight around Derek's biceps. Derek wishes for all the
marks and bruises, would let Stiles scratch him and cut him and--
"Woah, slow there, shhh," Stiles says, popping up to kiss Derek. It's only then
that Derek realises he's said that last part out loud. "Let's start with some
lovebites, okay?"
Derek nods, voice suddenly gone.
Stiles treats Derek's body like his own personal playground and Derek relaxes
into the cushions. Whereas Derek is methodological in his marking--placing them
evenly, switching sides every so often so Stiles won't be too uncomfortable--,
Stiles keeps jumping between caresses and bites, between Derek's neck, his
arms, his torso, his hip, sometimes without even leaving a proper mark,
occasionally cradling Derek's face and kissing him like there's no tomorrow.
It's the most satisfying experience Derek's had. He feels cherished, partly
because Stiles spends some time leaving butterfly kisses on the inside of his
elbow ("elbows don't get enough love, man, just let me"), partly because Stiles
keeps petting him--he runs his fingers through Derek's hair, noses just behind
Derek's ear, breathes on Derek's skin until he gets goosebumps.
Their cocks touch sometimes, but there's no real intent behind their thrusts.
Stiles is still hopping all over Derek's body, trademark of his ADD, murmuring
things Derek's not sure Stiles means for him to hear.
"I love the way your armpit smells, is that weird? Nah, you're a wolf, you
smell me all the fucking time, if you got turned off by the smell of sweat, I'd
never get laid. Your bellybutton is so cute, I want to live in it."
Stiles puts his tongue in Derek's bellybutton and Derek can't help but gasp.
"You'd have to live here," he manages.
"Wow, what a hardship," Stiles says. He leans up, looks at Derek and places a
kiss on Derek's nose tip. Then he gets that faraway look. "Have you ever
thought about a collar?"
Derek momentarily stops breathing.
"Not like a dog collar," Stiles hastens to add, "but--you know the sort of
collar. Just to show everyone that you're mine and--"
Derek whimpers. Stiles grins and shifts until he's straddling Derek's thigh,
his own pressing against Derek's cock in perfect rutting position.
"So I guess you'd like that," Stiles says as he puts his hand around Derek's
neck, thumb tapping against the small hollow between Derek's collarbones,
fingers leisurely stroking his skin.
Derek shudders and tightens his hand on Stiles's hips. He doesn't trust his
voice to not break, so he simply nods. Stiles grins at him.
"We could add a tag," Stiles murmurs while he still gently pats Derek's neck.
"Property of Stiles Stilinski, please call blah when found."
The thought sends shivers through Derek, the idea of not only knowing that he
belongs to Stiles, but an outward sign that would announce to everyone that
he's with Stiles. The other wolves can, of course, sniff it out, there are no
secrets to be kept in a pack, but the idea of marking himself openly as taken
is alluring.
"Fuck," Stiles says, voice slightly awed. "You're really into this, aren't
you?" He leans over Derek, lets his thigh fall more heavily against Derek's
crotch and bears down.
Derek can't do anything but pull Stiles against him more tightly, thrusting up
and enjoying the friction. "You'll be the death of me," he mumbles against
Stiles's mouth, but Stiles only laughs.
"You know you love me for it."
Stiles puts his hands on Derek's shoulders, pinning him down, and kisses him
deeply. He's still rubbing against Derek, a delightful friction against Derek's
cock. Derek can't decide which of the sensations to focus on, the best he can
do is to hang on to Stiles, work his hands underneath Stiles's shirt and flick
his thumb over Stiles's nipples. A small part of him is facepalming that they
didn't even manage to make it to the bedroom. Where Stiles has the excuse of
being a horny teenager, Derek's really not, hasn't been for years, and it
should be embarrassing how easily Stiles can take him apart, but mostly it
speaks of comfort to Derek. Stiles gets him, even if he doesn't feel like
talking, and that's more worth.
"I was hoping to get to undress you slowly," Stiles says when they break for
air. "But then you had to look like all that and your eyes and fuck."
Stiles buries his face in Derek's shoulder, a stutter in the rhythm of his hips
speak of how close he is.
"Who says that you can't still do that?" Derek says. Stiles is pressing against
him harder, and it's easy to put his hands on Stiles's ass and pull him even
tighter. He thrusts up, "We can go," once more, "all night."
Stiles grabs Derek's arms so tightly it hurts and then he moans open-mouthed
against Derek's skin. Derek smells more than he feels Stiles coming, and the
smell of hot jizz in the air is enough to tip him over the edge, too.
Derek lets his head fall against the cushions, blinking slowly up against the
ceiling. His mind is empty, blown as his pack would say, only the warm heavy
weight of Stiles on top of him registering.
For a minute there's only the sound of their heavy breathing, as they both
regain their breath. Of course, Stiles isn't quiet for long.
"I'm going to buy you a collar ASAP," Stiles murmurs. "As soon as I can move
again."
Derek chuckles. "It's not that urgent," he says. "I know who I belong to."
Stiles hums. "But you want everyone else to know, too," he says. He's running
his fingers slightly across the inside of Derek's arm. It's both arousing and
comforting, and Derek relaxes even more into the cushions.
"'S long as the pack knows," he says, his eyes closing on their accord.
He feels the small puffs of breath as Stiles laughs at him. "Nap before round
two?"
Derek doesn't bother answering. He tugs the blanket off the back of the couch,
wrapping it haphazardly around them and kisses the top of Stiles's head. He
falls asleep to the steady beat of Stiles's heartbeat and soft fingers wrapped
around his wrist.
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